


Visage

by BarrysLightningRod



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Freeform, No Plot/Plotless, Romance, Sensuality, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 01:14:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7338610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarrysLightningRod/pseuds/BarrysLightningRod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iris describes all of Barry's different, ah, faces. Some are ugly. Some are hot. All are loved by her. Barry does the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

One face he produces would be quite unpleasant to an average bystander, but to Iris, it's nothing less than charming, even tempting in a way. She might catch him by surprise on a casual afternoon, slipping her fingers beneath the waistband of his jeans to cup him through his boxers. His eyes will initially widen in shock before catching on to her intentions. While he grinds into her grip, he might let out a naïve chuckle. Beads of sweat will probably gather at his forehead, his cheeks will scrunch awkwardly, and his mouth will purse into a dumbfounded circle. She decides he looks a little bit like a fish this way, and she smirks at the view. She fondles his bulge until the fabric at his crotch seeps, wondering if he's aware how much a clumsy grimace like that of an eager teenager suits his young face.

Contrarily, he looks the most mature (and arguably the most attractive) when he displays his face of restraint. She could be on her knees, fervently sucking him before managing a glimpse upward. If he stills his manic, speedster quivers for long enough, (as they’re more challenging to command than his facial muscles), she catches sight of his face, drawn so taut that she can see the shadow of facial hair growing in, lending him an appearance of vigorous masculinity. The veins in his stiff throat are prominent, bobbing while he swallows with all the discipline he can muster. His nostrils flare dangerously and his mouth presses shut. At such a point, he wouldn't dare open his eyes, knowing full well that the sight of her lips around him would shatter any guise of self-control. And they can't quite have Barry cry out in elation when they're on the floor of his lab, though this face isn't exclusive to when they're in public. Occasionally Iris witnesses it in the private confines of their sheets, in those moments he doesn't want to let her completely take over him yet. She has to admit he's become quite skilled at this one: if he ever breaks his constraint while he pulses into either her, her palm, or her mouth, it would be to release the hint of a grunt and nothing more.

Sometimes, it's just a blank stare. This is the rarest one of all. He'll seem composed, almost passive. His lips are straight, his skin flushed, but the true indicator of arousal is his eyes. They're so dark, his pupils dilated to eclipse the green of his eyes so that one might never know their true color. The thick lashes that normally brand him with innocent boyhood are suddenly a beacon of lust with the way they intensify his gaze. It's a face of desire in the purest sense. It might appear when his eyes settle on the slight bounce of her breasts as she slowly rocks her hips against his body sprawled underneath her. She used to find it unsettling that Barry Wears-His-Heart-on-His-Sleeve Allen could be reduced to such an emotionless, carnal state, but maybe it reminds her that The Flash is as human as anyone else.

She loves the untamed face that materializes when they reunite after separation by an evil, by an earth, by a timeline. In these instances, Barry abandons any pretense of inhibition or modesty in relishing her body. Iris lets him, of course, but not until she indulges in his. She too wants her hands on him to amend for being apart. And those urgent hands find his swelling length after they rub his arms, stroke his chest, graze his naval. She just wants to touch all of him before he enters her, run her palms across his every part and crevice to make sure he's really in her presence and not in a dream like he had been so many times before. She takes her time pumping him until she herself can no longer stand the agony contorting his face, so she breathes a single word in his ear: " _Now_." Only then does he tangle their legs together, take her upper lip between his own two, and push into her, his eyes squeezing shut. As he's dripping down her thighs, he has to break their kiss to tilt his head and drop his jaw, and in the split second before he expels the air he sucked from her, Iris believes she was made to extract this face from Barry.

Perhaps her favorite of his faces is one that isn't indicative of his pleasure at all, but rather is in awe of hers. They're thrusting frantically into each other one night, both on the verge of climax. Despite the heated rush to finish, she's aware he's holding back for her sake, and his selflessness alone almost makes her come right then. But what really gets her is the tender face he maintains as he watches her ungraceful surrender to her impulses. His eyes are soft, crinkling when the corners of his lips turn upward in a manner too sweet for the desperate passion ensuing between them. The image is what finally makes her lose it: all tension leaves her body, replaced instead with euphoria. She allows herself only a brief period of recovery to make sure she catches him finish. It's difficult to tell if the expression of blissful content Barry wears is the result of him watching her revel in pleasure or the product of him marveling that he's inside her. Whatever it may be, Iris is comforted knowing that she is the reason behind the peaceful flutter of his eyelashes and the breathless part of his smile.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time he ever saw her features twisted in bliss, he wasn’t supposed to. Years afterward, when they’re a couple, he does opt to tell Iris about that night he heard rushed gasps from her bedroom and panicked, thinking she was in trouble, only to halt before barging through the door. He realized what she was doing even before he saw her hand clenching and unclenching, from her panting jaw, her flushed cheeks, her longing eyes. He remembers thanking God vehemently that he didn’t interrupt her, not only for the embarrassment that would have followed, but for also allowing him to behold Iris like this. And since that moment, he learned all her faces and kept them with him.

He wonders if it’s arrogant to consider himself some sort of expert on the faces of Iris West, but that curiosity becomes awe at her bottom lip parting from its parallel as he works to part her other set of lips. She’s always familiarly warm and wet on his fingertips. More familiar still is when she adjusts to that prime position which steadies herself against his fiddling. Barry’s stroked her enough times to recognize what’s about to ensue, although what’s materializing between his own two legs at the sight of her is also prophetic, and likely the most familiar occurrence of all. The strain against his jeans grows tighter, but he doesn’t pay it any mind as slight trembles come over her, starting at the very flesh he’s fondling and spreading until every tip of her convulses. While her limbs stiffen, she doesn’t make a sound, doesn’t even open her mouth, but the way her pupils sparkle with zest as they glance up at him from their dizzied eyelids is piercing.

Whenever she isn’t sighing softly or quivering quietly, the occasional exclamations transpire, occasional only because they coincide with those rare moments their sex is furious, crazed, stormy-when they each need flesh before anything else. Like when Barry has her pushed forward against the bathroom sink while she fights to escape her skirt. He yanks her legs back once she’s bared to pump into her, and her groan at the feel and length of his arousal is almost brutal. He doesn’t slow his movements, giving her full thrusts so hard they bounce her breasts from out of her top. His reflection pulls at her hair, finds her delicate chin to tilt her head, views her face in the mirror. Her hair is disheveled, mouth agape, emitting gruff cries that echo through the the bathroom and snake shivers down his spine. When he meets her eyes, they’re wide, stunned. To see composed, constant Iris reduced to a state of frantic passion at his touch is enough for him to burst at last: his contractions are powerful when he shudders against her, but he doesn’t dare take his eyes off the mirror as her chest heaves erratically one last time, letting out a final expletive that still haunts the air as Barry gently kisses her shoulder and she catches her breath.

Most of the times he’s tonguing her, he’s too captivated by her scent and her taste to spare her face a glance, but the moments he surfaces to do so, he never regrets-except once. In this instance, her quaking thighs around his head tempted him to slow his ministrations to look up at her. It is this image of Iris the Speed Force tortures him with when he’s imprisoned later on.

“Wally and Jay said they went through hell,” Iris whispers the night he comes back to her, her eyes glistening with sympathy. “Did you?”

His own eyes well at the memory. Her tumble of hair, black and wild. Her sighing lips, red and overturned. Her palms kneading her own breasts. Her pelvis rising as if seeking something from the air, that something that had been his mouth, that something that he couldn’t bestow in his trapped state.

The authenticity of the figure, the reminder that it wasn’t her…

He breaks down, pulling her to him, and he thinks that answers her question.

The face he loves most however is the one potent enough to quell the distress of his time in the Speed Force. It’s the one that appears when he leisurely slides up to Iris, skin to skin. When she spreads herself open for him to take, a sly grin teasing her lips. When he beams back just as roguishly before shifting his hips to ease into her. When her lashes bat closed and she inhales at the contact. When he hovers over her, slows the moment just to absorb her, to preserve her like this-naked and nourished-forever. It’s only seconds to her, but to him, it’s bewitchingly slow and hazy, dreamlike.

That’s when she laughs, and he’s startled out of his trance. She laughs beneath him, heartily, beautifully, relaxing her head back in bliss, and suddenly Barry believes that Iris and Iris alone could produce a reality surpassing anything he could ever conjure or alter with his speed. _Iris West_ , he thinks, as he basks in her laughter, can’t help joining her. _I hope you know how powerful you are._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just figured I'd expand this and write a little chapter from Barry's POV too.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, you did just read a story about Iris detailing Barry’s different O-faces. I don’t know if I should be ashamed of myself BUT which one do people like best?


End file.
